


of what I am, not what I'll be

by camwolfe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:09:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4509042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camwolfe/pseuds/camwolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's hurt, and it makes sense to stay with Steve while he heals. </p><p>Of course, that also means staying with Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> YEAH I KNOW THIS IS THE THIRD WIP I HAVE GOING I'M SORRY THAT'S MY BAD. 
> 
> I hope you guys like this anyway.
> 
> Title from "Hunger", by Of Monsters and Men. Which, yeah, is the same song I got the title of my other WIP from. Yeah, yeah, I know.

“Barton’s going to laugh at me,” Sam said glumly.

“No, he’s not,” Steve said. “I’m sure he doesn’t even know about it yet.”

“Nat’s going to tell him,” Sam mumbled. He slumped dramatically down in his wheelchair, wincing as the movement jarred his leg slightly. “She’ll probably show him the video.”

“There is no video,” Steve said soothingly. The elevator reached the ground floor, the doors opening. Steve pushed Sam out into the hallway.

“Of course there’s video,” Sam said. “It’s the twenty-first century, Steve, there’s always video. I’m sure I’m on CCTV somewhere.”

“We can ask Nat to find it and delete it,” Steve offered.

“She’ll still show it to Barton first.”

“Probably,” Steve said calmly. Sam winced as Steve pushed the wheelchair out of the hospital doors, the wheels bouncing slightly.

It took them several minutes to get Sam settled in the backseat of the car, his legs stretched out across the seat.

“Can we at least stop by my place to get some of my stuff?” Sam asked as Steve got into the driver’s seat.

“Sure,” Steve said, and started the car. “But I’ll have to go in and get it. Just tell me what you want me to pick up.”

“I can – “

“Stairs,” Steve reminded. “So many stairs.”

Sam sighed and flopped back against the door.

It was late afternoon by the time they made it to Steve’s apartment. Steve took Sam’s crutches out of the trunk as Sam pushed the passenger door open. Steve held the crutches out, and Sam looked at them doubtfully.

“I could carry you,” Steve offered.

“Steve,” Sam said as he took the crutches. “You know I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be damned if I let you carry me like a baby.”

“Okay,” Steve said doubtfully. Still, he leaned in and grabbed Sam under the arms to haul him out of the car.

It took another few minutes to get Sam upright. He hadn’t used crutches since he was a kid and sprained his ankle playing soccer in his backyard, and they felt clunky and unfamiliar in his hands. Still, he managed to hobble into the building, putting as little weight on his left leg as he could and none at all on his right.

“Are you sure – “ Steve asked as they made their way slowly through the lobby.

“Yes.”

Sam gave in a little once they reached the elevator and let Steve take some of his weight. The elevator ride was over too quickly, and then Sam had to hobble down the hallway with Steve hovering worriedly behind him.

“Almost there!” Steve said encouragingly as he unlocked the door. Sam panted and tried to put as much of his weight on the crutches as he could.

Several painfully slow steps later, Sam was sprawled out on Steve’s couch, trying to catch his breath.

“Okay,” Sam gasped out. “I take it back. Next time, you can carry me.”

Steve was looking down at him worriedly. “Do you want some water?”

Sam nodded breathlessly. Steve ran to get a glass, and Sam tried to haul himself upright.

Finally, he was settled on the couch with a glass of water and the tv remote in his hand. Steve was still hovering nervously.

“I’m fine,” Sam said, as Steve opened his mouth. “Really, Steve.”

Steve sighed and visibly deflated. “Are you sure? It’s not time for your pain meds yet, but I can get you some ice or heat or something. Are you cold? Do you need a blanket?”

“Steve,” Sam said in the firmest voice he could manage. “I’m fine. I’ll ask if I need anything, okay?”

Steve sighed again and flopped down beside him on the couch, taking care not to jostle Sam. “Sorry. I’m just worried.”

“My leg is broken and the other one is bruised. I’m not gonna die from it.”

“Your leg is shattered,” Steve said pointedly, staring at the blank tv screen in front of him. “And you looked a hell of a lot worse when I found you.”

“Yeah, cause you didn’t see me fall,” Sam said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little. “It was embarrassing. And pathetic. You would have laughed. Barton’s going to.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, still not looking at Sam. “I really don’t think I would’ve.”

Sam thought about it, and winced. Yeah, Steve probably wouldn’t have found it all that funny.

Steve was off in his own world again, staring off into space. Sam sighed and grabbed the remote.

“You got HBO?” he asked as he flicked the tv on.

Steve seemed to come back to himself a little. “What’s HBO?”

“Guess not,” Sam said. “We probably should have taken the tv from my apartment before coming here.”

“Hey, I have lots of channels,” Steve said defensively. He grabbed the remote from Sam and flicked the tv on. “Look. There’s like three hundred.”

“But no HBO."

“You still haven’t explained what that is.”

Sam was in the middle of trying to explain to Steve why you would pay more money for a single channel when a door opened in the back of the apartment.

Sam turned his head, and felt himself automatically starting to tense.

Bucky was standing in the entrance to the hallway, looking out into the living room. His face was blank, like usual, but his eyes were narrowed and fixed on Sam.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said casually before turning back to look at the tv. “I was gonna make dinner soon, but I think there’s some frozen pizzas in the freezer if you’re hungry now.”

“Hi,” Sam said, in the most casual tone he could manage.

Bucky just narrowed his eyes again before turning and walking into the kitchen. He hit a few buttons on the oven and grabbed a pizza from the freezer. He ripped the packaging off it and grabbed a pan as well, tossing them both into the oven. He then headed back to his room, fixing his eyes on Sam again as he went.

Sam made himself take a deep breath. The tension in his body was already starting to exacerbate the pain in his leg.

“Steve,” he said quietly. “You told him about me staying here for a while, right?”

“Of course,” Steve said with a frown.

“And he’s okay with it?”

“Yes,” Steve said firmly. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if he wasn’t.”

Sam had to be careful about what he said. He didn’t know how good Bucky’s hearing was, but if it was anything like Steve’s, he could probably hear the discussion from his room.

“I know that,” Sam said slowly. “I trust you. I just… you guys have been doing so well lately, and I don’t want to throw that off.”

Steve was still frowning, his arms crossed. “You won’t. You’re not in danger here, Sam.”

“I know, that’s not what I meant,” Sam said hastily. Normally he’d be better at a conversation like this, but he was groggy from both the pain and the painkillers. “Really, Steve. I just don’t want to make things harder for you two than they have to be.”

Steve laughed, but it was a little too harsh to be genuine. “Sam,” he said with a grin that didn’t really meet his eyes. “You, of all people, are not going to make things harder.”

“Alright,” Sam said carefully. Steve shook his head and got up, walking over to where the kitchen opened onto the living room. He started pulling pots and pans out of the cupboard, still frowning slightly.

Sam sighed again and slumped back onto the pillows. His leg was really starting to hurt now, a mix of sharp pains and aches.

He didn’t notice that he’d drifted off until Steve woke him up again.

“Sam,” Steve said gently. “Sam.”

Sam blinked and tried to sit up. Pain shot through his leg and up into his spine, and he couldn’t help but grimace.

“Painkiller time,” Steve said cheerfully. He was holding Sam’s pill bottle in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“Thanks,” Sam said groggily. He took both from Steve and dutifully opened the bottle.

“And when you’re done, there’s dinner!” Steve said with a flourish, presenting a neat plate of pasta with a few vegetables mixed in.

“Aw, thanks, Steve,” Sam said once he’d finished with his pills. “You didn’t have to do all that, I know you’re busy. I’m fine with takeout.”

“Takeout won’t help you build your strength,” Steve said, and headed back into the kitchen to grab his own plate. “Bucky! Dinner’s ready if you want it!”

Steve paused for a second, probably listening to Bucky say something too quietly for Sam’s hearing.

“Okay,” Steve said. “It’ll be in the fridge for you.”

Sam watched as Steve put his own plate down and set to wrapping up the other before carefully putting it in the fridge. Then, finally, Steve picked up his own plate of now-cold food and joined Sam on the couch.

“Alright,” Steve said, now that he was finally settled. “Do you need anything else?”

“I’m good,” Sam said. “Thanks.”

“Movie?” Steve suggested, already grabbing the remote.

Sam wasn’t even sure what movie Steve ended up picking, because his heavy-duty painkillers started kicking in soon after he ate. The movie had just started when lethargy began to spread through his arms and his legs, mercifully taking the worst of the pain with it.

“Steve, you should try these,” Sam said happily as Steve gently took the plate from his lap. “These are so good, Steve. So good.”

Steve laughed. “They don’t work on me, remember?”

“These ones…” Sam said with all the determination of the inebriated, “these ones will. They’re so. Good. Feel so nice.”

Steve laughed again. “I’ll keep that in mind, but for now I’m just glad you’re not in pain. I was really worried, Sam.”

Sam waved a hand at him and slumped a little lower on the couch. “I’m fine, I’m fine. You’ve had worse, so… so much worse.”

“Yeah, and I’ve got super healing, remember?” Steve called from the kitchen.

“Super healing, schmuper healing,” Sam mumbled. He was getting really tired.

Steve laughed and somehow reappeared in front of Sam again. He gently took the water glass from Sam’s hand and then pulled the heavy blanket from the armchair over him.

“Aww,” Sam said, trying to keep his eyes open. “Thanks.”

“Get some sleep, Sam,” Steve said.

Sam obediently let his eyes fall closed. The sound of Steve moving around in the kitchen faded out pleasantly, and only a distant pain in his legs kept Sam grounded.

Finally, that faded away too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at me, updating promptly. look at me go

He slept straight through the night and well into the next morning. Sam was sore and achy when he woke up, his muscles stiff and painful.

“Good morning,” Steve said.

“Ugh,” Sam replied.

Steve was dressed in his exercise clothes, and his shirt was nearly soaked through with sweat. He’d clearly already gone for his morning run, and was now leaning against the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in his hand.

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asked.

Sam tried to sit up a little, and winced as pain flashed through his leg. “Not great, honestly.”

Steve sighed. “I figured. Do you want your painkillers first, or do you want to try a shower?”

Sam thought about it for a minute. “Probably the shower now. If I have the painkillers first, I’ll just pass out again.”

Steve shrugged and set his cereal down. “I gotta say, you’re one of the easier house guests that I’ve had. You’ve been asleep for like fourteen hours or something.”

“Sure, you say that now,” Sam said as he hauled himself upright. “But we haven’t tried that shower yet.”

Sam knew that he should probably be embarrassed or uncomfortable needing Steve to help him shower, but the two of them had passed embarrassment miles back. Probably around the time that Sam had literally had his hands inside a gaping wound in Steve’s chest, trying to stop him from bleeding out. Or the time that Sam had had a nightmare while they were staying in a cheap motel in Iowa, and he’d tried to climb out the window in his panic.

So, Steve helping Sam take a shower definitely wasn’t the weirdest thing they’d ever done.

By the time that Sam was clean, dry, and dressed again, another hour had passed and he was in a fuck ton of pain.

“Okay,” Sam said hopefully once Steve reemerged from his own shower. “Is it painkiller time?”

Steve laughed. “Sure is. You gotta eat something first, though.”

Sam made a face. He wasn’t that hungry, but he knew better than to try and take heavy painkillers on an empty stomach.

“Okay,” Steve said, opening the fridge. “We have milk, juice, and…that’s it.”

Sam laughed. “Come on, I saw you eating cereal earlier.”

Steve glanced over his shoulder, looking a little ashamed. “That was the last of it. I thought we had some eggs left.”

“And you don’t?”

“I don’t think so,” Steve replied, rummaging through the fridge. “Buck! Did you eat the eggs that were in here?”

“Yeah,” Sam heard a voice call from Bucky’s room.

 “There were like eight of them left!”

“And now there’s none,” Bucky said from his room. It startled a laugh out of Sam.

Steve shook his head, but he was smiling. “Okay, fine. Sam, are you okay here if I run to the store?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I worry about everything, Sam,” Steve said as he grabbed his shoes and pulled them on. “Including you.”

“That’s not healthy, Steve!” Sam called, but Steve was already out the door. Sam sighed.

He flipped through a few channels before settling on a home reno show that looked like it would be easy enough to follow, even though the haze of pain and drugs still in his body.

He hadn’t eaten yet, but he also hadn’t had anything to drink since last night. His crutches were leaning up against the arm of the couch, and it wasn’t that far to the kitchen.

Sam grabbed his crutches, and managed to get to his feet. He took three painful steps towards the kitchen, and then stumbled when his weak ankle twisted a little on the hardwood floor.

He pitched forward. Sam managed to get his arms out in time to catch himself and keep his bad leg from cracking against the floor, but the rest of his body made a loud thudding noise as he hit the ground.

Sam lay there for a moment, his face pressed up against the cool hardwood and his limbs sprawled awkwardly beneath him. His leg throbbed, and now his shoulder ached from catching himself.

Sam finally groaned and rolled over onto his back, trying to cushion his leg as much as he could. He blinked up at the ceiling, and then quickly glanced to the left when he saw someone standing next to him.

Bucky was standing a few feet away, frowning. His hair was messy and he was dressed in what looked like Steve’s t-shirt and sweatpants, his arms crossed across his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Sam stared at him. “Uh, yeah,” he said finally. He carefully pulled himself up into a sitting position, and then promptly dropped back to the ground when pain from his leg shot up through his back.

Bucky stepped forward and reached out in what Sam later realized was an instinctive movement to help. Sam also reacted instinctively, and it was probably the worst thing he could have done.

He flinched.

Bucky froze and then stepped backward, crossing his arms again. His jaw was clenched and his eyes shadowed.

“Sorry,” Sam said awkwardly. He was still lying on the floor, propping himself up on his elbows. “I just…”

“It’s okay,” Bucky said shortly. “I get it.”

Bucky moved closer again, still staying a few feet away from Sam. He grabbed the crutches and held them out to Sam, still staying back.

“Thanks,” Sam said slowly. He managed to twist around and get his good leg (sort of) underneath him, enough so that he could push up and balance on the crutches again.

He slowly maneuvered his way back to the couch, Bucky still hovering near the hallway.

“Sorry,” Sam repeated when he finally sat down again. “I didn’t – “

“What were you trying to get?” Bucky interrupted.

“Water,” Sam said. “I was thirsty.”

Bucky turned and moved silently into the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it up with tap water. He set it down on the table next to the couch, keeping a few feet between him and Sam. Once he’d delivered the water, he darted back again so that he was standing in the hallway entrance.

“Thank you,” Sam said genuinely. “And thank you for trying to help me.”

Bucky stared at him impassively for another long moment, before turning and disappearing silently back into his room at the end of the hallway.

Sam waited for the door to click quietly shut before he slumped back against the cushions again, groaning quietly to himself. He hadn’t meant to flinch when Bucky had reached for him, especially because Bucky had only been trying to help. Sam couldn’t even imagine what that must have felt like for Bucky.

Still, there was a reason for Sam’s instincts to behave that way. Hell, the last time Bucky had reached for him, he’d been going for Sam’s throat with a knife. Would have gotten him, too, if Natasha hadn’t knocked it out of his hand in time. Bucky had turned on her instead, and he’d managed to crack the side of her head against Steve’s countertop before Steve had tackled him. It had taken all three of them to restrain him, that time.

According to Steve, it wasn’t like that anymore. They were okay now. They were doing well.

 Sam believed him, he really did, it was just that… well, Steve’s idea of ‘okay’ was a little different than Sam’s. Or anyone else’s, really.

But Sam trusted Steve, and he needed a place to stay and people to help him out, and so here he was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I know these are lil tiny baby updates but I'm TRYING MY BEST. It turns out I'm not very good at working full time and also doing, well, anything else.

Just then, a key turned in the lock and the apartment door opened. Steve rushed back in, a bag of groceries in one hand. He must have literally ran to the store.

“Hey!” Steve said cheerfully. “I got some eggs. And some peppers and cheese, because apparently that’s something you add to omelets now.”

“Have you been watching the food network again?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Steve said as he started unpacking the groceries. “It’s really helpful. Most of the meals are too complicated or use too many weird ingredients, but I’m learning a lot. Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said tiredly. Pain was started to roll over him in waves again, and he kind of just wanted to go back to sleep. “Tried to get up and get some water. Hit the ground pretty hard.”

“Sam!” Steve said, indignant. “I could have gotten you some before I left! Or you could have asked Bucky. He’s here.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam said. “He helped me out.”

Steve smiled a little, casting a fond look down the hallway at Bucky’s closed door. “That’s good. That’s really good. Here, I’ll get your breakfast going and then you can take your meds.”

 

Half an hour later, Sam was fed and successfully medicated. He hazily watched some boring show about people building a deck while Steve washed the breakfast dishes, humming to himself quietly.

Eventually, the morning transitioned into the afternoon and the deck show turned into a show about modelling. Sam was four episodes in and deeply invested, and Steve had been reading something on his laptop for the last few hours.

“You’re going to hurt your eyes if you keep staring at your screen like that,” Sam said eventually. Steve was hunched over his laptop at the kitchen table, a frown creased across his face.

“No I’m not,” Steve replied.

“Okay, you probably won’t,” Sam amended. “But still. Take a break. You look stressed.”

“I’m fine,” Steve said vaguely, and went back to frowning at his screen. Sam shrugged, took another swig of his Gatorade, and went back to watching a wannabe model try and pose upside down underwater.

The day passed, Sam stayed medicated, and eventually even Bucky drifted out of his room.

He wandered into the kitchen after the sun had set, looking more relaxed than Sam had ever seen him. Bucky merely glanced at Sam before making his way over to Steve, who was still tensed and frowning at the kitchen table.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked, moving to stand behind Steve. Sam fought the urge to raise his eyebrows as Bucky leaned against Steve’s back, gently wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

The last time Sam had seen Bucky touch Steve, Bucky had successfully ripped a handful of Steve’s hair out of his head and almost taken his eye out as well before Natasha had hit him with a sedative.

Maybe things _were_ actually getting better.

“Nat was right,” Steve murmured. He didn’t take his eyes off the screen, but Sam saw him already starting to relax in Bucky’s grip. “There’s a pattern, I just had to look for it.”

“What else did she say?” Bucky asked.

Steve made a face. “I just think…”

“Leave it alone, Rogers,” Bucky said in an eerily accurate imitation of Natasha’s voice. “I’ll handle it.”

“But –“

“Come on,” Bucky said, reverting back to his own slightly hoarse voice. “Go watch… whatever that is.”

“Hey!” Sam protested. “This is a fascinating look into the modelling industry.”

Both Steve and Bucky stared at him. 

“Really,” Sam tried.

Steve finally sighed and shut his laptop, leaning back into Bucky’s arms. “Okay, okay. Come on, let’s go watch the model show.”

Bucky immediately frowned and tried to pull back. Steve gently grasped his forearms, keeping him pressed up against Steve’s back.

“I don’t…” Bucky said, casting a glance at Sam before burying his face in Steve’s shoulder again.

“Sam doesn’t mind us watching his show with him,” Steve said, somehow reading into Bucky’s wordless anxiety. “Right?”

“Of course,” Sam said. “Come on. Pick which model you think is gonna win, it’s fun.”

Steve dragged Bucky over to the couch. He flopped down next to Sam, still taking care not to jar Sam’s leg.

Bucky hesitantly sat down on Steve’s opposite side, casting a glance at Sam before pushing himself to the edge of the couch again.

Sam couldn’t tell if Bucky was nervous that Sam would hurt him, or if he was nervous that Bucky would hurt Sam. Either way, Sam’s medication-addled brain couldn’t sort through it to figure out how to help him. He didn’t want Bucky to be uncomfortable in his own home. The guy had definitely had enough of being uncomfortable (and more) to last a dozen lifetimes. Still, Sam couldn’t help the twinge of fear that ran down his spine every time he felt Bucky’s eyes on him.

Bucky was doing well now, Steve said, and Sam could definitely see that it was true. Bucky seemed calm, and his tactile relationship with Steve was clearly beneficial for both of them. Bucky spoke with a relatively normal cadence and rhythm now, and his words only slipped into foreign accents occasionally. There was life in his eyes, and Sam could see the way the tension drained out of both Bucky and Steve when they were together.

Sam couldn’t forget what it had been like when Steve had first brought Bucky to live with him. Sam had tried to help, at first. They all had. But it got to the point where the moment someone crossed the threshold of Steve’s apartment, Bucky would lunge at them with whatever weapon he could either get his hands on or make. Sam got two broken fingers, a bruised rib, and a mild concussion before Steve asked him to not come back until things were better. Until Bucky was calmer.

So, he’d left. Sam had gone back to his own apartment, gone back to his job, to his life. He’d texted and called Steve as much as he could, and rarely got a response back that consisted of more words than “I’m fine.”

It had taken four months before Steve could leave the house, and more than a year before Steve finally invited Sam over. Steve was drained by then, more drained than Sam had ever seen him. His skin had been shallow and his eyes dark, his muscles tense to the point of pain.

Even though Sam had been by a few times since then, Bucky had pretty much stayed in his room whenever company was over. This was the first time that Sam had spent any significant amount of time in their apartment, and he was genuinely surprised.

Both Steve and Bucky seemed… okay. Sam had no idea if this was just a lull before another storm, but he couldn’t help but hope. That was something that both Steve and Bucky seemed to embody more than anyone else Sam had ever met. Hope.

Jesus, he must be on some good painkillers.

Sam made himself stop waxing poetic and focus back on the television show. He was so groggy and tired that he actually couldn’t remember any of the model’s names, but the plot of the show was easy enough to follow.

“This is a weird photoshoot,” Steve commented, frowning at the screen. “I don’t understand how this would sell the product at all.”

“Sex sells,” Sam mumbled sleepily. Steve blinked at him before turning back to the screen.

“And the lighting is all wrong,” Steve continued. “They’re not highlighting that woman’s features properly. And – “

“Steve?” Bucky said abruptly.

“Yeah, Buck?” Steve said. He immediately turned away from the show and gave Bucky his full attention. Sam tried to do that, but turning his head was so much _work_.

“I…” Bucky said, his voice trailing off as it took on a note of frustration. Sam watched as Bucky clenched and unclenched his fists. His shoulders and neck noticeably started to tense, and Sam felt adrenaline start to pump through his own veins in response.

Bucky took a deep breath, and clearly consciously forced himself to relax. His shoulders slumped back down again, and he reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand without looking at him.

“I don’t like this show,” Bucky finally said, and then immediately pushed himself back further into the couch.

“Okay,” Steve said easily. “Sam, do you mind if we change it?”

“Go ahead,” Sam said, clumsily handing Steve the remote. “Wanna see if there’s anything on the food network?”

Steve glanced at Bucky, who slowly nodded.

“Yeah,” Bucky said finally. “Let’s watch Chopped or something.”

Steve flipped the channel and settled back into the couch. Bucky remained tense for a few minutes before slowly starting to lean back against Steve again.

Sam started to relax too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANTM is an easy show to watch if you aren't feeling well but then I thought about the fact that Bucky probably wouldn't enjoy a show which involves people sitting in chairs for hours being made to look like someone they're not, and then posing for hours pretending to be someone else


	4. Chapter 4

Steve’s phone buzzed a while later, and Steve shifted around while trying to pull it out of his pocket. Bucky made a grumpy noise when Steve had to unwrap his arm from around Bucky’s shoulders to get the phone, but settled back against Steve a moment later.

“It’s from Nat,” Steve said, scrolling through the text. “Clint saw the footage of you crashing.”

“See!” Sam protested. “I told you some CCTV somewhere would have picked it up!”

“He’s not laughing, though,” Steve continued. “Both him and Nat want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Aww,” Sam said. “That’s kinda sweet.”

“Here, smile,” Steve said, aiming his phone’s camera at Sam. “I’ll send them a picture to prove you’re alive.”

Sam put on an exaggerated smile and gave the camera a thumbs up. Steve took the picture and then went back to tapping at his phone, presumably sending it to Natasha.

They settled down to watch the show again. Well, Steve settled. Sam ended up watching Bucky more than he watched the show.

Sam had never seem someone fight sleep as hard as Bucky fought it. He’d long since suspected that sleep deprivation was one of Bucky’s major issues, back when Bucky had first started living with Steve. According to Steve, Bucky had never slept. Ever.

But things were better now, and Sam watched with fascination as Bucky started falling asleep on Steve’s shoulder.

He’d started by sitting on the couch next to Steve, staring resolutely at the television once they’d changed the channel to something he enjoyed. Eventually, he slowly slid down to lean against Steve. Steve, of course, had immediately wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and let Bucky lean into him.

Now, Sam watched as Bucky started to doze and then woke himself up again, over and over. His eyes would start to slide closed, and then they’d fly open again just as Bucky sucked in a frantic breath. He’d blink a few times, glance around the room, and then settle back against Steve again.

It started happening with more frequency. Bucky’s eyes would close every few minutes, and the pattern would start again.

Every time that Bucky would wake himself up, Steve would start gently rubbing circles into Bucky’s arm with his hand. That seemed to keep Bucky grounded, and as relaxed as he could get (which wasn’t much, for him).

Finally, Bucky’s eyes slid closed and stayed there. Sam watched as the lines of tension in Bucky’s body slowly started to fade.

Steve glanced up and noticed Sam watching.

“Shh,” Steve motioned frantically with his free hand.

Sam gave him an offended look. Of course he wasn’t going to wake Bucky up.

Sure enough, Bucky got a good two hours of sleep in before he suddenly jerked awake, flinging himself away from Steve and scrambling backward over the arm of the couch. He landed in a crouch, his eyes wide and his breath coming rapidly.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said calmly, not even blinking. “You missed a few episodes of Chopped, but we’re onto Masterchef now.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked from Steve to Sam, still breathing hard.

“We were thinking of watching a movie later,” Sam said casually, taking cues from Steve. “Any preferences?”

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, and then slowly dragged himself out of his crouch. He climbed back onto the couch and slumped down next to Steve again, looking almost more exhausted than before.

“Nothing with the shaky camera,” Bucky said finally, not meeting Sam’s eyes. “Anything else is fine.”

“Okay,” Sam said. “So the Bourne movies are out, then?”

“I don’t know what that is, but probably,” Steve said mildly. “Sam, do you want more meds?”

Sam thought about it. He was getting tired of being groggy and slow all the time, but the ache in his leg had yet to recede.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a sigh, "but lets take the dose down a little.”

 

Sam slept on the couch again that night. Steve’s apartment had three bedrooms, and Steve had offered the third to Sam. The couch propped him up at exactly the right angle, though, and he didn’t have to go far if he needed to reach the kitchen or washroom.

As far as Sam could tell, Bucky slept in Steve’s bedroom at night. Or stayed there, at least. Sam doubted he slept all that much. Bucky had his own room, though, and spent a fair amount of time in there during the day. Sam had never seen what was inside there, mostly because the door was always shut tightly.

Sam did try moving to the guest room once. It was nice to have more room to spread out, but it was quiet and lonely in there, despite Steve popping in occasionally to check on him.

Sam could hear Bucky moving around in the rest of the apartment though, his voice mixing with Steve’s. Bucky spoke much louder without Sam there, and Sam even heard him laugh a few times. It was clear that Bucky wasn’t really comfortable in Sam’s presence, and Sam wasn’t really sure what he could do to change that.

After two days of boredom and isolation in Steve’s guest room, Sam used his crutches to hobble back out to the living room. He collapsed on the couch again with a sigh.

“Want your meds?” Steve asked without looking up from his computer screen. He was sitting in the armchair this time, but he was staring at the screen with just as much intensity as he had been when he’d been at the kitchen table.

“Just one,” Sam said. “Thanks.”

Steve raised an eyebrow and finally looked up at Sam. “Is that gonna be strong enough?”

“No,” Sam said. “But it’s gotta happen sometime.”

Steve got him his pills, and Sam finally breathed a sigh of relief as the painkiller started to take effect.

“You gonna tell me what you’re looking at?” Sam asked a few minutes later. Steve had gone back to staring at his laptop.

Steve sighed and dropped his head into his hands, running his fingers through his hair. “I would, but…”

Sam waited.

“It’s better if you don’t know,” Steve said finally. “Plausible deniability.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Steve.”

“I mean it,” Steve said. He wasn’t smiling. “I don’t want you to get messed up in this, Sam.”

“I can handle it,” Sam said.

“It’s not that I think you can’t,” Steve said hastily. “I don’t want you to have to.”

“Don’t you think that’s my choice to make?” Sam asked.

Steve sighed again. “Sam, if this goes wrong… we’re gonna need people who aren’t mixed up in it to help out, okay?”

Sam narrowed his eyes at Steve for a long moment before relenting.

“Fine,” Sam said slowly. “But if you need help, you let me know, alright?”

“Of course, Sam,” Steve said earnestly. Sam rolled his eyes.

 

Sam let it drop, but he knew that it wasn’t something that was going to _stay_ dropped.

Sure enough, Steve’s phone rang later that night. He disappeared into his bedroom with it, ignoring the way Bucky glared at him as he did so.

“Do you know what all of this is about?” Sam asked from his spot on the couch.

Bucky was standing at the kitchen counter, frowning down at his bowl of macaroni.

“Yeah,” he muttered sullenly, not looking at Sam. He clearly was not in the mood for conversation.

“Okay,” Sam said calmly. He went back to checking his email on his phone.

 

Steve reappeared a few minutes later. Sam took one look at his face and set his phone down.

“What happened?” Sam asked.

Steve leaned against the kitchen counter and dropped his head into his hands. Bucky spooned another bite of macaroni into his mouth and watched Steve carefully.

“I’m gonna have to take off for a while,” Steve said finally. “I won’t be gone more than a week.”

 “Steve,” Sam said. “If you need – “

“I gotta do this on my own, Sam,” Steve told him. “There’ll be others that I’m meeting up with, but it’s best if you and Bucky stay here for now.”

Bucky took another bite of macaroni, his eyes not leaving Steve’s face. Sam sighed.

“We’ll be fine here,” Sam said. “Don’t worry about us.”

Steve smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I just – “

Bucky abruptly dropped his fork back into his bowl and grabbed Steve’s arm. He physically dragged Steve down the hall and into his bedroom before Sam could even blink, Steve frantically stumbling behind him.

“Uh,” Sam said, but the door had already slammed shut.

Sam drank his water and ate his sandwich while the sounds of muffled angry shouting echoed from behind the closed door. He watched two episodes of a decorating show and then the evening news. He replied to emails from his mom and sister, and caught up on some of his paperwork from his job.

Finally, Steve and Bucky reemerged. Bucky was scowling, his arms crossed over his chest. He stomped over to where his macaroni lay abandoned, took a bite, and then angrily put it in the microwave to heat up.

“So,” Steve said, in a remarkably calm voice for someone who had just spent two hours being yelled at by one of the world’s most feared assassins. “I’m going to head out now. Sam, just ask Bucky if you need anything. There’s plenty of groceries in the fridge and I’ll call when I can. Natasha’s in town, too, and you can call her if you need anything.”

Bucky deliberately turned his back on Steve and watched his bowl of macaroni rotate around the microwave.

“Just check in as much as you can, okay?” Sam said. Steve nodded. He looked relieved that Sam wasn’t going to yell.

 

Steve left an hour later. His backpack was thrown over his shoulder, and his shield was on his arm.

Bucky was still standing in the kitchen, now glowering at the box of cookies as he steadily ate his way through them. Steve tried to wrap an arm around his back to say goodbye, but Bucky shrugged him off and disappeared into his room.

“He’ll be fine,” Sam said as Steve’s face fell. “We’ll keep an eye on each other.”

Steve smiled weakly. I know.

 

The door shut behind Steve, and Sam slumped back against the cushions.

He was going to be alone in Steve’s apartment with Bucky for a week or more.

Great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look this chapter was going to be longer but TODAY'S MARVLE NEWS derailed any coherent thoughts I had


	5. Chapter 5

It was a little awkward, at first.

Sam prided himself on being able to get people to open up and relax around him, but Bucky didn’t even give him the chance. Bucky shut himself in his room after Steve left and didn’t reappear for hours.

Sam marathoned a makeover show, decided he hated makeover shows, and ended up watching a documentary on Thai food.

 

Bucky reappeared later that evening. He stormed out of his room, the door flying open. He stomped into the kitchen and started rummaging through the fridge.

“Hey,” Sam said. Bucky grabbed the box of leftover pizza and stormed out of the kitchen again, his furious expressions at odds with his sweatpants and bright shirt.

To Sam’s surprise, Bucky stormed back a second later.

“Hey,” he muttered, and vanished into his room again.

Well, Sam figured, it wasn’t the worst way things could have gone.

 

Sam didn’t see Bucky again that evening. He managed to hobble into the kitchen using his crutches and find the remnants of the pasta they had a few nights before. Putting it in the microwave and waiting for it to heat up seemed impossible, though, and Sam gave up.

He answered some emails on his phone and ate his cold spaghetti. He brushed his teeth in the kitchen, rather than bothering to try and get down the hallway to the washroom.

Sam fell asleep early. The apartment felt strange and empty with Steve gone. Bucky was such a quiet presence that Sam really felt like he was there on his own.

He passed out on the couch again, snuggled up under the heavy blanket that Steve had left for him.

 

Sam was sitting in Riley’s backyard. Riley was across from him, sprawled out in a folding chair. Some of Sam’s other friends and relatives were there, including Steve. Steve was chatting with Sam’s old high school buddies, over near the barbecue.

“See?” Riley said with a grin, propping his feet up on the fire pit between them. “And you said I couldn’t throw a successful party.”

“That’s not what I said,” Sam told him, taking another swig of his beer. “I just said that I was better at them.”

“Aw, come on,” Riley protested. “I’ve got chicken, steak, and hot dogs cooking over there. What more could you want?”

“I dunno,” Sam said, looking thoughtfully up at the sky. “It’s kinda cloudy.”

Riley laughed. “That’s not a factor in a good party, at least not one that you can control.”

Sam smiled and looked back down at him, just in time to see that there was suddenly a fire in the firepit, where there hadn’t been one before. Sam watched in horror as the fire grew larger. Flames started to leap into air, smoking start to billow up towards the sky.

Sam tried to say something, tried to warn someone, but his mouth wouldn’t work properly. It felt like there was someone holding onto his tongue.

The flames spread to cover Riley. Sam watched helplessly as Riley screamed, the smoke finally obscuring the damage the fire was doing to his skin.

Sam managed to turn his head, just in time to see the fire begin consuming everyone else.

Pain flared up his leg, and Sam turned back just in time to see that the fire had reached him, too. His leg was covered flames, and there was so much smoke that Sam couldn’t see anyone anymore, but he knew that they were all dead, Riley was dead and –

There was sudden pressure on his other leg, and the world around him evaporated.

Sam sat up, sucking in a gasp of clean, cool air. He was in a dark living room, on the couch, his leg propped up on the ottoman –

Steve’s living room. He was in Steve’s apartment.

Sam forced himself to take another deep breath in, the remnants of terror from the nightmare still running through his body.

He forced his eyes open again, and finally noticed Bucky.

He was sitting on the coffee table, watching Sam anxiously.

“Hey,” Sam said, and took another forceful deep breath.

“Sorry,” Bucky said. His voice was hoarse, but his accent was American this time. “I didn’t… I grabbed your leg, but I tried using your name first and you weren’t waking up. Steve… Steve wants me to hold onto him when he wakes up from a nightmare, but I can’t have anyone touch me if I’m waking up from one.”

It was the most that Sam had ever heard Bucky say at one time, and it helped.

“It’s okay,” Sam said, a little breathlessly. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

Bucky looked down at his feet, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” Sam asked. He really wanted Bucky to keep talking, but he didn’t want to make him feel obligated to.

“Nah,” Bucky said. “Wasn’t asleep.”

Sam nodded, trying to get his breathing under control. He was fighting off a panic attack, but it was still going to take a few minutes for him to get it together. It was hard, waking up from a nightmare like that, but he knew it would pass. He just had to wait it out and keep his breathing steady.

“You okay?” Bucky asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Sam said. “So you’re not sleeping, huh?”

Bucky shrugged. He looked calmer now than he had before, but his jaw was still clenched tightly. Then again, it kind of always was.

“Don’t sleep well when Steve’s not here,” he admitted. “Can’t relax as much.”

Sam nodded. “I get that. I’m guessing you don’t feel as safe?”

Bucky shrugged again. “Don’t feel safe anywhere,” he muttered. “But it’s a little easier when Steve’s here. His hearing’s as good as mine.”

“Well,” Sam said, “I know I’m no Steve, but hopefully I’d wake up if someone tried to break in.”

To Steve’s delight, Bucky actually cracked a small smile.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” Bucky said. “Not you taking care of me. Speaking of which, do you want me to get your meds for you?”

Now that Sam thought about it, that’s probably where his nightmare had stemmed from. His leg was throbbing and aching simultaneously. That pain, combined with being in an apartment that wasn’t his, had probably caused it.

“Just one,” Sam said. “If you don’t mind.”

One painkiller wouldn’t take all of the pain away, but Sam needed to sleep. He knew from both his work at the VA and personal experience how healing a good sleep could be.

Sure enough, he started drifting off a few minutes after Bucky brought him the painkiller and a glass of water.

“Thanks, dude,” Sam said sleepily, the pain in his leg starting to recede. “I really appreciate you helping me.”

Bucky shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with the praise.

“You helped Steve when I couldn’t,” Bucky said. “When I was… not doing too good. I never thanked you for that.”

“You don’t have to,” Sam said, trying to stay awake even as the meds dragged him down. This conversation was important. “It was the least I could do.”

“Still,” Bucky said. He said something else, but Sam was already asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for self-harm

Two more full days went by without a sign of Bucky.

Sam could only assume that he was leaving his room to get food from the kitchen, or at least Sam hoped so. He tried knocking on Bucky’s door and calling his name, but there was no response. Sam knew better than to try and get the door open anyway.

Sam called a physiotherapist that he knew, and tried some of the exercises he recommended. His leg still hurt, but his other aches and bruises were starting to heal. His mobility was getting a little better, too. He still needed the crutches to take his weight off his broken leg, but he was getting much better at using them to get around the apartment.

He still slept on the couch, which is why he heard a thump from the hallway in the middle of the night.

Sam’s eyes flew open. He sat up on the couch, trying to get his eyes to focus. There was another small sound from the hallway that led down to Steve and Bucky’s rooms.

Sam grabbed his crutches and hauled himself to his feet. He hobbled slowly out of the living room, pausing to turn on the lights as he went.

“Bucky?” he called cautiously. There was no reply.

He reached the hallway and turned on the light. Bucky was slumped on the carpet, his back against the wall and his head bowed. His shirt and sweatpants were soaked in what was undeniably blood.

“Shit,” Sam muttered, and hobbled closer. Bucky didn’t move.

Sam leaned against the wall and slid down, trying to cushion his bad leg as he went. He ended up sprawling awkwardly next to Bucky.

“Hey, man,” Sam said as gently as he could. “What happened?”

Bucky lifted his head sluggishly. His eyes were half closed, but he shrugged listlessly. He curled in on himself, keeping his arm pressed to his stomach. It seemed to be where the blood was coming from.

“Okay,” Sam said, forcing himself to take a calming break before he spoke again. “Do you mind if I take a look at it? I won’t touch, I promise.”

Bucky stared at him for another long moment before extending his arm. Sam winced.

Bucky’s flesh and blood arm was a mangled mess. It looked like Bucky had gone at it with a knife, but there were bruises and what looked like crush injuries in there too.

“Alright,” Sam said. “Do you think there’s any way you can make it to the bathroom from here?”

Bucky nodded, his eyes downcast.

“Okay,” Sam continued. “You go run that under water for a minute, okay? I’m gonna head back to the living room. You know where Steve’s first aid kit is?”

Another nod.

“Can you grab that and meet me there?”

Bucky slowly rolled forward so that he was kneeling on the ground, and then pushed himself to his feet with his metal arm. He stumbled into the washroom.

Sam grabbed his crutches and awkwardly clambered back to his feet. He stumbled back into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, breathing heavily.

Bucky reappeared a moment later, the first aid kit in one hand and a bunch of towels in another. Sam hadn’t even thought of that.

“Okay, Sam said. “Wanna come sit next to me?”

Bucky sat stiffly down on the couch, avoiding Sam’s eyes.

“Hey,” Sam said gently. “It’s alright. We’ll get you fixed up.”

Bucky wordlessly held his arm out. He’d cleaned it off, and now Sam could clearly see the knife gashes running up and down it.

Sam didn’t say as a word as he cleaned and stitched up the cuts. If Bucky was anything like Steve, they’d heal up on their own pretty soon anyway, but Sam wasn’t about to sit and let someone bleed everywhere if he could help it.

“Okay,” Sam said, a while later. “All finished.”

Bucky pulled his arm back in to his chest protectively, but he didn’t move.

“You want to tell me what happened?” Sam asked. “It’s alright if you don’t.”

Bucky shrugged.

“Okay,” Sam said agreeably. “Let’s just watch tv or something.”

He ended up on another food show, which seemed to be the safest route. There was something relaxing about watching people cook and narrate what they were doing.

“I was angry,” Bucky said suddenly, staring fixedly at the television.

“At?” Sam prompted.

“Steve,” Bucky muttered. “Myself.”

“Why are you mad at yourself?” Sam asked.

“I should be with him,” Bucky muttered. “I should be doing _something_.”

“You are doing something,” Sam said. “You’re living, and you’re taking care of yourself.”

Bucky scowled. “I’m useless, that’s what I am.”

Sam knew better that to say anything.

“I’m no good at being a human,” Bucky continued a moment later. “I’m better at being a weapon.”

“Do you want to be?” Sam asked, even though he wanted to grab Bucky by the shoulders and tell him that human beings weren’t inanimate objects.

Bucky shrugged and went silent again.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” Bucky mumbled a few minutes later. “And sometimes when I get angry… I break things. I used to hurt Steve. A lot.”

Sam waited.

“I didn’t mean to,” Bucky said, his voice taking on a hint of desperation. “I didn’t want to. I don’t want to hurt anyone. So I…”

He waved his metal hand over his injured one.

“Hurt yourself instead?” Sam asked quietly.

Bucky nodded. “It… helps, a little. Sometimes. I get lost, I guess. In my head. Sometimes. Steve had some fancy words for it.”

“I probably told them to him,” Sam admitted.

To Sam’s surprise, Bucky laughed. It was hoarse and brittle, but it was definitely a laugh.

“Fuck you, then,” Bucky muttered. Sam laughed.

“Sorry, dude,” Sam said. Bucky shook his head.

Another few minutes passed. Bucky started to slump down on the couch, his head lolling forwards. Every few seconds, he’d jerk awake again.

“When’s the last time you slept?” Sam asked him quietly.

“Since before Steve left,” Bucky mumbled. “Gettin’… gettin’ real tired.”

“I bet,” Sam said sympathetically.

Bucky scrubbed at his face. “It was… better, before. Before Steve.”

He looked up suddenly, his eyes wide.

“No,” Bucky said hurriedly. “No, I didn’t…”

“It’s okay,” Sam said.

Bucky groaned and slumped further into the couch. “I know how to say it in Russian. In English, my words…”

“I get it,” Sam said. “Well, actually, I don’t, but I can imagine it’s hard. All I speak is English and some random phrases in other languages. How many languages do you even know?”

Bucky shrugged. “A lot. They all mix together in my head, most of the time.”

Bucky took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

“I meant…” Bucky said slowly. “I didn’t mean that it was better before Steve. It was… easier. That’s what I was looking for.”

Sam leaned back on the pillows. “Easier?”

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah. They told me what to do, and I did it. It was easy. I was good at it.”

Sam nodded. “Makes sense.”

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment. “I was the best at it, you know? Now I’m not the best at anything. Except being a burden.”

“Hey,” Sam protested, gesturing at his leg. “I’m the one who’s crashing on your couch and watching tv all day.”

Bucky laughed again, which made Sam smile.

“Yeah,” Bucky countered, "but how long have you been living for free in Steve’s apartment while he dedicates every single fucking moment of his fucking life to you?”

“Steve doesn’t think of you as a burden, at all,” Sam said firmly. “As cheesy as it sounds, he thinks of you as a gift.”

Bucky sighed. “Well, yeah, that’s Steve for you. His priorities are a little off. Besides, what were you doing when you got hurt?”

“Crashing,” Sam said vaguely.

Bucky gave him a look. Sam was impressed, actually. When Bucky had first come to live with Steve, his face had been constantly expressionless. Now, it looked like he was making a conscious effort to change it, at least.

“Crashing doing what?” Bucky asked.

Sam sighed. “Turns out the guy we were chasing had some kind of electromagnetic pulse or some shit. Turned my wings off.”

Bucky frowned. “You don’t have a backup?”

“I do,” Sam said. “It’s this manual parachute type thing. Found out the hard way that it doesn’t inflate in time to stop you from hitting the ground if you were already diving.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Ouch.”

Sam sighed and gestured to his broken leg. “Yup. Ouch.”

“See,” Bucky said pointedly. “You got hurt doing something good, at least. I just sit around all doing, doing fuck all.”

“You’re making Steve happy,” Sam offered. “That’s not nothing.”

Bucky scoffed and crossed his arms. “Happy. Sure. He sure looks happy when he’s trying to pin me down after a nightmare so I don’t hurt him or myself.”

“You didn’t see him before,” Sam said. “It was worse. Trust me on this.”

Bucky gave him a look, but sighed and acquiesced. He slumped back into the couch, his eyes half-closing.

“Look,” Sam said. “I’m not saying you need to make yourself go to sleep, but how about this. I’ll stay awake, keep an eye on the door and windows. You just relax for a while, okay?”

Bucky shrugged and curled in on himself more.

Sam pointedly turned his attention back to the tv, but he kept an eye on Bucky.

Bucky’s head started to nod again, and eventually he slumped sideways into the couch. Sam watched as his breathing started to even out, and the lines of tension started to fade from his back and shoulders.

Sam smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam and Bucky were sprawled out on the couch playing a video game when Steve came home.

“Aw, come on,” Sam said as Bucky ran his car off the road. “You’re playing dirty.”

“Maybe,” Bucky said, staring intensely at the screen. “I’m also winning.”

“Not for long,” Sam muttered, trying to make his car catch up with Bucky’s.

The sound of a key turning in a lock caught both of their attention.

Bucky tensed, and then immediately relaxed. Sam, trusting Bucky’s instincts, relaxed too.

Steve pushed the door open and slowly walked inside, shutting it behind him.

“Hey, Buck,” he said quietly. “Hey, Sam.”

Sam and Bucky looked at each other for a moment, and then both set their controllers down at the same time.

“How’d it go?” Sam asked, pulling himself into a sitting position.

Steve shrugged lethargically, slowly pulling his shoes off. “It went.”

Bucky and Sam exchanged another look. Steve got his shoes off and just leaned back against the door, staring at nothing.

“You hungry?” Bucky asked, getting up off the couch. “There’s leftover pizza.”

Steve shook his head.

“Uh huh,” Sam said, allowing a hint of disbelief to creep into his words. “Sure you aren’t. When’s the last time you ate?”

Steve blinked tiredly. “I dunno.”

Steve fell silent again, and Sam and Bucky exchanged a glance.

“Okay,” Bucky said carefully. “Why don’t you get cleaned up, and Sam will get the food going?”

Steve looked up, his face drawn with exhaustion. “Sam can’t, he’s hurt.”

“Sam can handle putting some pizza in the microwave,” Sam said.

Steve frowned. “I… sorry. I didn’t mean to talk about you like… like you weren’t here.”

Sam glanced at Bucky again. “Steve, it’s alright, I was kidding.”

Steve didn’t even seem to hear him.

“Okay,” Bucky said finally, making an executive decision. “Steve. Shower. Now.”

Steve slowly pushed himself away from the door he was leaning on and made his way to the washroom. His feet dragged on the floor, and his shoulders were hunched.

Sam nodded his head towards Steve. Bucky nodded back and followed Steve down the hallway.

Sam hobbled into the kitchen and set to work heating up the pizza. He heard the shower start, and the sound of Bucky talking quietly.

Okay, maybe it _was_ a little tricky trying to heat up the pizza while balancing on his crutches. He managed it, but it took him much longer than it should have. It also took Steve much longer to shower than normal, though, so it worked out.

Sam set the pizza out on plates and carefully lowered himself onto one of the kitchen chairs, putting his leg up on another. He sighed as he heard Bucky cajoling Steve into getting dressed.

It wasn’t the first time that Steve had come back from a mission like this. He had a habit of burning himself out. He would forget to eat, forget to sleep, and he could manage to keep going for long enough that it usually slipped under most people’s radar.

Sam always called him out on it, though, and apparently Bucky did too. It made Sam feel so much better, knowing that Bucky was looking out for Steve. It took a weight off of Sam’s shoulders that he hadn’t even realized he was carrying.

“I just wanna sleep, Buck,” Sam heard Steve mumble from down the hall.

“Steve,” Sam called. “Remember the last time you went to sleep without eating after a mission?”

Steve didn’t say anything, but Bucky appeared in the hallway entrance with his arms crossed.

“What happened?” he asked sharply.

Sam sighed. “I couldn’t get him to wake up again. Turned out that he’d gone too long without eating, and his body had basically put itself into a coma when his blood sugar dropped that low.”

Bucky turned around and stalked back down the hallway. He reappeared a moment later, pushing Steve down the hallway in front of him.

Steve was showered and dressed in comfortable clothing, but his eyes were bloodshot and his face pale.

“Yum, look at this pizza,” Sam said, waving one of the plates towards him. “Delicious pizza, laden with calories and… well, probably not all that many nutrients, but still.”

Bucky smiled, and even Steve’s face relaxed a little. Steve collapsed into the chair next to Sam, propping his head up on his hand.

Bucky sat down on the opposite side of the table, digging into his pizza. Both he and Sam kept a close eye on Steve.

Steve ate his food slowly but determinedly. Every time his eyes started to drift shut, Sam would casually drop his fork on his plate loudly enough to wake Steve up again. Alternatively, Bucky would gently nudge Steve under the table with his foot.

Steve had almost finished his pizza. Sam and Bucky were discussing the various merits of putting pineapple on pizza when Sam saw Steve’s eyes close completely.

“Hey – “ he started to say, but he was cut off when Steve slumped to the side.

“Fuck,” Sam and Bucky said at the same time. Sam grabbed Steve’s shoulders and managed to keep him from falling off his chair, but Steve was just so _heavy_.

Bucky vaulted the table, somehow avoiding the various plates and glasses spread over it, and hauled Steve upright again.

“Okay,” Bucky said definitely. “Bed.”

“Yay,” Steve mumbled, his eyes barely open.

Bucky hauled Steve down the hallway to Steve’s bedroom. Sam shook his head and tried to clean up the table.

It turned out that cleaning up the dishes was even harder on crutches than microwaving food was. Sam gave up. The dishes could wait.

He did end up hobbling down the hall to the washroom. In doing so, he passed the open door to Steve’s room.

Steve was sprawled out under his heavy down comforter. He was lying with his head on Bucky’s chest, his face slack and calm.

Bucky was lying on his back, propped up on the abundance of pillows on Steve’s bed. He had both his arms wrapped firmly around Steve, but he was awake. He looked up at Sam as Sam passed.

“Goodnight,” Sam whispered, and took his hand off his crutch to wave at Bucky.

Bucky gave Sam a quick smile and slid further down on the pillows, tugging Steve closer. Steve didn’t move at all.

Sam got himself ready for bed and then crashed on the couch again. It was a relief having Steve back safe and sound.  He slept better, and he didn’t doubt that Bucky was sleeping better too.

Well, at least Sam _was_ sleeping better until he woke up to sex noises coming from Steve’s bedroom.

He didn’t have the heart to tell them to keep it down, so he just grabbed a pillow, covered his ears with it, and passed out again.

He also tactfully didn’t mention the sex bruises covering both Steve and Bucky’s shoulders and arms the next morning.

 

All three of them were eating lunch the next day when there was a knock on the door.

Both Steve and Bucky tensed. Sam just looked up from his sandwich.

“You expecting anyone?” Bucky asked Steve in a low voice.

Steve shook his head and got up, moving silently to the door. Before he could get halfway there, a familiar female voice sounded from the other side.

“Sam!” Anna called. “Sam, open the door, I know you’re in there! Oh wait, you can’t open the door, because _you broke your fucking leg_!”

Steve and Bucky slowly turned to look at Sam. Sam groaned and dropped his head onto the table.

“Friend of yours?” Bucky said drily.

“I heard that!” Anna shouted.

Steve laughed and opened the door.

“Hi, Anna,” he said cheerfully.

Anna lowered her hand from where she’d been about to pound on the door again.

“Hello, Steve,” she said politely. “Can I come in?”

Steve stepped back and held the door open for it. Anna walked in and immediately fixed her gaze on Sam.

“I can’t believe this,” she muttered, stalking over to where Sam had his leg propped up on a chair. She started poking at the brace around it, and Sam yelped.

“Bucky,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “Meet my sister, Anna.”

“Nice to meet you,” Anna said absentmindedly, still examining Sam’s leg. “This is shoddy work.”

“I had the best doctors in the country!” Sam protested. Steve sat back down and started eating his sandwich again. Bucky was watching Anna and Sam with amusement.

“But apparently not the best nurses,” Anna muttered. “The strap isn’t tight enough, Sam.”

“Don’t touch it,” Sam warned. “Don’t you touch it, Anna, don’t – “

Anna tugged on the strap, and Sam yelped again.

“That hurts!” Sam protested.

“No pain, no gain,” Anna said. She stood up straight and clapped her hands.

Sam groaned.

“Well, boys,” Anna said. “It’s been so kind of you to allow Sam to impose on you like this – “

“He’s not imposing,” Steve and Bucky said in eerie synchronization.

Anna raised an eyebrow. “After he’s gone, you two can have sex in the living room if you want. Or in the kitchen. On the floor, for all I care.”

Steve’s face turned red, and Bucky smirked. Sam sighed.

“Not that I think you haven’t been taking good care of him,” Anna said reassuringly as she started to pack up Sam’s things. “But if my mom hears that he got hurt and I wasn’t the one to help, I’ll never hear the end of it. Sam, where’s your toothbrush?”

Half an hour later, Steve and Bucky were helping Sam through the building and out to the street, where Anna was waiting with her car.

“Thanks for letting me stay with you,” Sam said once they’d reached the sidewalk. “I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Sam,” Steve said earnestly. “Really.”

“Still,” Sam said. “Thanks.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Bucky said quietly.

He was standing back in the shadow of the building, well out of the way of pedestrians walking by.

Sam started to ask why, considering that they’d met quite a while ago, but stopped himself. He too felt like he’d just met Bucky for the first time, the real Bucky.

“You too,” Sam said.

Bucky smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY FINALLY ANOTHER WIP IS DONE  
> I know this doesn't have a lot of plot or drama or whatever but I never wanted it to have any of that! Just a cute little story about Sam and Bucky spending some time together for the first time. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for you comments throughout it, I love you!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr [here](http://cameronwolfe.tumblr.com)


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